


Danser avec moi

by aTARDISfullofotters



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Dancing, F/M, French, I really don't know what else to tag this as, and there's french too!, ben is such a freaking tease, there's so much teasing in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTARDISfullofotters/pseuds/aTARDISfullofotters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why had they had chosen to stay there? She couldn’t remember. Maybe it was the feeling of ancient mystery that intrigued her. What secrets did this room hold? Who had traveled through this room? What had they whispered and hoped no one would ever speak out loud? Was there ever any loud Gatsby-esque parties twirling around here when the place still stood in all its glory?</p><p>His hand shifting in hers brought her back from the land of daydreams. He turned her around.</p><p>“Vous avez l'air ravissante.” He rumbled in her ear.</p><p>Based off of the photoshoot of Benedict dancing on the bed. There's dancing. And French.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danser avec moi

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, 100 million kudos to whispering-imp on tumblr for all the help. She has helped me so so much and I can't thank her enough. Kudos as well to w-is-for-writing for one of the wonderful lines in this story.
> 
> Also, all of the French is from either my younger sister or Google Translate. If you want to change my grammar, please feel free to comment or send me an ask on tumblr.  
> Finally, as a stylistic thing, I only used 'he' and 'she'. No names. Feel free to put in the names you want. I intended this to be my power couple, Benedict and Sarah.  
> The song that plays throughout this is La Vie En Rose by Louis Armstrong. Please Please check it out here- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IJzYAda1wA  
> This story is based off of this image from one of Benedict's photoshoots-  
> 

To say that the hotel was old was an understatement. As the two people who currently called it their lodging swayed around the room, they noticed the thin strips of wallpaper peeling off the yellowed, slightly cracked walls. The half-painted ceiling was a mix of red paint and bare wood. A few wooden shelves that were more than several years out of style sat in one corner, while a rather large and obnoxious bed lay in the center of the room. The couple was swaying to a slow waltz playing on the aged record player in the corner.

To say that it was only an innocent waltz was an even more dramatic understatement. She was holding on to him desperately. One two three… One two three… They breathe in sync, heavier than what a mild dance could have done to the two experienced dancers. He could tell she was deeply aroused.

Why had they had chosen to stay there? She couldn’t remember. Maybe it was the feeling of ancient mystery that intrigued her. What secrets did this room hold? Who had traveled through this room? What had they whispered and hoped no one would ever speak out loud? Was there ever any loud Gatsby-esque parties twirling around here when the place still stood in all its glory?

Only hours earlier, they were at a loud and rambunctious party. Now their once carefully groomed attires has become wrinkled and disheveled. The dress shirt he was wearing was one she knew well. He had worn it on many date nights prior to this one. A shade of white above lavender, it had always been one of her favorites. He had kept it on, busying himself with the disk and needle for the record player, whilst she, as impatient as always to be comfortable, kicked off her shoes the moment they came through the door. She soon realized the uncarpeted floor was a hazard to her silk tights, and hurried to remove them as well.

Just as she started on the zipper of her dress, the strong arms of her lover came up from behind and imprisoned her in a fierce embrace. “Please don’t, unless you want to dance naked. I really like that dress.” He breathed down her neck. The smell of alcohol was strong, although not unpleasant, even a tad bit intriguing, really. She was lucky that dresses, surprisingly, don’t crease as much. Likely labeled as ‘edgy’ at New York Fashion Week, this dress was one of her favorites. She enjoy dressing up in glamor for the parties; but what she loved even more, is the private, relaxed time she could spend with her loved one. After her carefully constructed updo had been messed up partying, her brown tresses were now pulled into a messy bun resting on top of her head.

His hand shifting in hers brought her back from the land of daydreams. He turned her around.

“Vous avez l'air ravissante. _You look beautiful._ ” He rumbled in her ear. His wild curly brown hair tickled her skin.

She tipped her head back and giggled. She knew he only spoke French when he wanted something from her. Sex. But she was unable to do anything about it. He knew she got off on his low voice murmuring the language of romantic seduction to her.

“Il ne devrait pas être séduisante pour vous de parler français à moi. _ It should not be that seductive for you to speak French to me. _” She responded, using her ample French knowledge from school, matching him to his language skills.

He chuckled right next to her ear. She shivered and nearly lost her footing. Noticing her uneven steps, he adjusted his next footing to a smaller side step to give her time to recover.

Once recovered, he led her into a slow spin, noticing the soft smile across her face.

His lips moved along her neck, placing a kiss or two there. Her fingers, laced in his, tightened, pulling at him, begging for more. He felt her breasts heaving against his body. The air was thick. They were standing too close for the dance, he thought. His mind dimly registered the dance lessons that seemed so long ago: “Leaders, your arms should be strong and stiff. Followers, lean back against your partner's arms, trust them to hold you up. The two of you should maintain a distance, not caught up in an embrace….” Well, dance lessons be damned. How can anyone possibly stay apart when the forces of love pulls them together like a set of magnets?

The large hand holding the small of her back stealthily shifted to her ass, as if he was expecting her not to notice. But of course she did notice, and there was nothing she can do about it. He draw the right hand between them, keeping it close to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat drumming against her fingers. He rested his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, breathing in his sinful scent, and clutched tighter to his shoulders.

He smiled against her honey-scented skin. He did this to her. He had made her weak in the knees.

“Je parie que tu êtes le trempage, ma chérie. _ I bet you’re soaking, darling._”

She shook her head in denial. _You shan't get the satisfaction of manipulating me into sex, mister._ She thought in her head. _Not with those dirty tricks of yours. But oh!_ When he pushed her away for an underarm spin, her fingers lingered on his body for a fraction too long. Reluctantly, she twirled in front of him. And he took the chance to graze his fingers across her slim waist. She loathed the thin fabric that denied her the feel of his touches now. She shouldn’t have listened to him instead of stripping down to her skin earlier. Her body was on fire.

They fell back into step. She hanging on to him with much too much desperation.

“Tu veux ca̧, n'est pas? _You want this, don’t you?_ ” he crooned.

“Yes.” She choked out, unintentionally reverting to English. He was intoxicating.

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss her.

“Patience, ma chérie. _Patience, darling._ ” He murmured in her ear.

A small lick at the shell of her earlobe, and he pushed her away, feigning the innocence they had long since trampled underfoot. She bit her lip, giving him the big pouty eyes he always fell for. He merely smirked. All in good time.

Despite these playful interactions, their feet never lost the beat. He steered her around the room. He always watching out for her, avoiding the furniture and uneven floorboards. She hardly notice the music now, the only thing that mattered in the world then was him and his arms and shoulders. There was a gentle click as the LP came to an end. But he didn’t stop for an interval, nor for a bow and courtesy, he simply continued dancing. She lifted her hands from his shoulder hesitantly, intending to break away and go flip the disk over.

His hands tightened, refusing to let her go. “No, my love. We’re not finished yet.”

And he started humming a jazzy melody. They were dancing freely now, clicking their heels together, twisting and turning together. They are two young lovers out of their time. She could feel time reversing, taking them back before the war, slipping into the 20s. A girl dreaming of freedom running away from home with her lover. Leaving security behind in favor of adventures with a stranger. At the end of the rainbow is the man, who had kissed her for god knows how many times in his dreams. She surrenders to his will, allowing him to become her life, changing the course of her life to his liking, commanding her to put a foot down here, step the other there… A half step back and her heart leapt in her chest, surprised. The cold bars of the chipped bed frame pressed, rather unexpectedly, against her backside.

He had her cornered.

“Chérie, nous avons à peine commencé. _Darling, we have just begun._ ” He murmured in her ear.

As suddenly as it had happened, the ephemeral flirting was over. In a seemingly uncharacteristic move, he hopped onto the bed.

“puissions-nous continuer? _May we continue?_ ” He suggested, holding out his hand invitingly for her.

He knew the look was coming before he even met her eyes. And there it was, painted on her face. The why-the-hell-are-we-doing-this face. But he waited a second longer, and the love-all-things-foolish smile soon crept onto her face and she giggled, scrambling up and joining him on the mattress.

The bed creaked loudly, protesting any sort of movement done to it. One too many years of usage had turned it into a cranky, senile mattress.

Their steps are small and a little wobbly, each move causing the duvet to ruffle quietly, every other breath a little hitched for fear of stumbling until they found their rhythm.

“Je vous suis. _I’ve got you._ ” He whispered, verifying his comment by giving her more purchase on his strong right arm after she stumbled.

The record player spun on. Now more than ever she could picture a typical party of Jay Gatsby’s. The sound of clinking champagne glasses,the colorful scene of the brass band playing the most fashionable songs at the request of the host, and the guests swaying, single or coupled, on the dance floor filled her imagination. As the passion of the night overtook them, the drunken laughter gently fade into the dark outdoors. Only close friends remain, still sober enough to exchange conversations, and occasionally lifting flirtatious glances to their secret lover. Everyone chasing after their dreams.

Well, not everyone. They’ve already triumphed. This is what they wanted, nothing more. They have each other, and that is enough. He pressed a kiss to her lips softly, slightly to the side. He loved the feeling of her full pouting lower lip, soft and sensual and quivering against his.

“Tu es mienne. _You’re mine._ ” He whispered to the lips.

The passion emanating from him was palpable. She could feel it in his every breath. Every brush of his lips against her skin. Her self-control gave away with nuclear force. She pounced. The prey becoming the predator. Her lips against his. Her hand pulling relentlessly against his clothing. They finally lost the delicate balance. Together, they toppled over onto the bed, bouncing, she on top of him. He gasped and laughed, trying to maneuver them so that he came up on top. But she would have none of it. Straddling his legs, she impatiently set about the task ahead. Her delicate hands pulled at the knot of his tie.

She slid the tie off his collar. He let out a groan of despair. He propped himself up a little with one arm and reached the other to push the strap of her dress off her shoulder. He didn’t get far. Not a moment too soon, the silk tie was wound around his wrist and pulled away. She kept it rested by his side. She kissed him playfully on the forehead.

“Minx.” he cursed.

But he kept his hands where she want them dutifully, even when she released the tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. Three came undone under her nimble fingers. She smoothed her hand on the skin beneath. There was a fire burning inside. She could feel it, and she wanted it badly. Leaning forward, she nuzzled the nape of his neck, nibbling at his ear. But it was her bosom that pressed onto his body that burned, like maddening hellfire. The hand on his chest slithered along his torso towards the last buttons, releasing them without much difficulty.

When he turned to catch her mischievous lips, she set back out of reach. Earning another distressed groan from him. She took his hand, first one then the other, placing them in her lap. He had no choice but to lie back on the bed and let this devilish darling have her way with him. She screwed off the cuff-links one after the other, holding them in between her teeth. Her lips quivered with the effort. He longed to take those little golden things out and threw them across the room, just so he could crush his lips to hers and devour her. He pushed himself up as soon as she released his hands. He shrugged off the shirt. As soon as he did, she pushed him back. She crawled atop of him like a wild cat, her dress tickling his skin. She traced her index finger along his jawline, making sure to catch his attention. Then, gingerly, she took the cufflinks from between her parted lips, and dropped them one after the other into the ashtray on the bedside table. Clink. Clink.

She placed her palms on his shoulders and slide her lower body back. The act brought their bodies together effortlessly, like two jigsaw pieces fitting together, she on top of him.

“Now, monsieur,” Eye to eye, her lips a hair’s width away from his, she teased for one last time. “Danser avec moi.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/ comments always appreciated!!
> 
> marcusmumfords.tumblr.com


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